


Violet Crow on Silver Trails

by Despacit_oof



Category: Actually Stephen, DanPlan, Video Blogging RPF, actuallyoddplan
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, I'll reveal character roles and such as I go, I'm Bad At Tagging, King! Daniel, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Monster! Hosuh, Multi-Genre?, Nobility, OK STOP READING HERE TO AVOID SPOILERS YEET, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Reboot, Rogue! Stephen, Snake! Hosuh, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, danplan animators deserve love, even after all this time dammit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Despacit_oof/pseuds/Despacit_oof
Summary: In a world reminiscent of a classic medieval Dungeons & Dragons setting, the story follows the adventures and antics of a certain roguish figure.Stephen - better known in rumors as the 'Violet Crow' - has lived a life on the run, with all its ups and downs in tow. He didn't make a name for himself for nothing - daring, ambitious crimes and flashy, thrilling means of escaping justice are things not usually kept secret. Although running from kingdom to kingdom can solve many problems, it's no cure-all.Everyone's luck runs out eventually, so what might happen when Stephen's fortune runs dry? Especially with mysterious, awful rumors in the air, only time could tell what would happen...THIS IS THE CURRENT REBOOTED VERSION, IN CURRENT AND ONGOING PROGRESS
Relationships: Hosuh Lee & Stephen Ng, Hosuh Lee/Stephen Ng
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Peaceful Day

The day was like any other, simply another tick of a single cog in the elusive clockwork mechanisms of the great machine of life. The city was nothing extraordinary for its time, although it definitely had plenty of beauty. It was the capital of a kingdom, so some beauty was only to be expected, at least by the ruling nobility of the land. Over what was a great grassland plain over a millenia ago now lied the seat of royalty, a mighty stone-carved castle rested upon a hill large enough to hold the great manor’s size. Hundreds of people made the castle their place of home or work, both the power and decadence of royalty entailing a force of manpower to back it up. 

Guards dressed in iron armor could always be found all over the property, and the city below, marching around perimeters, simply standing as vigilant guardians of power, or sometimes taking fleet foot to wrastle scoundrels and criminals against the people and the crown alike. The metal of their armor having been imbued with minor illusory magic, their uniform chestplates glistened with a golden hue under the lights of the sun and moon alike. The same color held true in the plates that protected their forearms, and the outfits were similar - simple dark pants with woven shirts of every hue beneath the chestplate armor. 

The armor had the engraving of the sun in the front, the royal lineage having descended from an initial handful of folks blessed by the magic power of the glowing sphere - or so the stories went. In the back, the other and more widely recognized insignia of the kingdom lied as an indented engraving - the supposed four blades of the four initial mage-warriors who founded the kingdom, all laid out in a line. Two daggers made the front and back of the line, and swords made the middle duo. The first two blades laid with their hilts downward, while the final two had their blades pointed down towards the earth below. The first two warriors who wielded the powers of the sun and founded the royal bloodline were meant to be represented by the first two blades, while the second two were meant to represent the other two warriors blessed by the sun’s sister, the moon. All power was said to derive from the sun, but the moon could still deliver some of the light and power it held - much like it were reflecting the beams and latent magical energy the fiery orb gave off down to the Earth below.

Of course, the power of the royalty was not all in fable, nor were guards the only body of manpower under the hand of the crown. Artists came and went on hire to create the portraits and beautiful landscapes that hung in frames in great halls, chefs and servants had their quarters to rest after tending to the noble family. Like most other families, the human bloodline that held the crown was a line of fathers, grandfathers, mothers and all their sons and daughters. Although only a single man could hold the penultimate crown, all regality held their powers, as did other aristocrats who visited so often they may as well have lived in the castle. 

Some of the most notable figures of nobility were a trio of ladies who ruled over nearby manors that produced much of the crops that fed the city. Thin, pointed ears poked out from one of the women’s heads, laying against soft white strands of her short hair. A faint blue ring always hanging over her head, the first of the noblewomen descended from a line of truly celestial beings, elf-like winged people who lived in the heavens and danced in the realm of the sun. Descendants like her were often referred to as ‘celestial-folk’ in reference to their lineage, or sometimes as ‘skyborn’ or 'goldbloods'. Mostly known by her house name of Zerinchi, she only spoke her first name in regal circles. Unlike most powerful folk, Ivu had taken time to study magic books and tomes in her youth - primarily that of beautiful visual and illusory spells, but also a great deal of healing magic in an effort to heal her family. Disease had caught up to them and withered each member away slowly. Although she could slow the progress of each illness that plagued their bodies, not even the greatest, most powerful mage could dare escape death forever. Eventually she was the only one left, and so she inherited the Zerinchi manor and all the property and riches that came with it - although the memories of her lost loved ones made her spend little time in the mansion itself, instead visiting the king’s castle and even walking the cobbled city streets in her flowing dresses of beautiful sky blue hues.

The second woman was often compared to Lady Zerinchi like a dark counterpart, a comparison which held some merit due to heritage. Where Ivu hailed from the heavens, Lady Nox hailed from hell, albeit in a distant way. She belonged to a race of people most often referred to as ‘devil-bloods’ or ‘infernals’ who had natural mild resistances to fire, as well as a natural aptitude in learning when it came to magic that involved fire. Devil-bloods also had at least once characteristic physical trait - one or more pairs of horns, a tail, or even a pair of small but permanent wings. Lady Nox - or better known with her first name, Shai - had the lattermost of these traits, and her dresses of deep greens, red and blues were modified to accommodate the  bat’s wings that faintly shimmered in the same navy blue color as her hair. The comparison also had mild derivatives from personality, for although both women could be on the quiet side at times and had generally kind natures, Shai could sometimes have a clever, cunning edge about her.

The last of the trio, Lady Suzuki, was simply human unlike her counterparts - but given that humans were the most prevalent race in the Lim kingdom, it was not a bad thing. If anything, it helped her in settling more mild disputes based on race, which is something she’d helped settle in her manor multiple times and even helped the king on several occasions. Her kind, friendly, and rather cutesy nature helped put parties of diplomats at ease, which helped give her the sometimes-used title of Lady Sugar - it was actually a rather cute play off the name of her pet, a small ferret-like creature she often carried around on her person. King Daniel, as well as all his ancestry, was human just like her, and so Pau served a great purpose in giving the human majority a better image and reputation in the kingdom.

Gargoyles and ornate carvings decorating the walls, twin watchtowers reigned over the main body of the castle and blocked out some of the sun from hitting the settlement below. Their long shadows phased over the city at the foot of the hill, moving much like a sundial as days passed in the quaint little society rooted in the hills. By its very nature, nobility needs lower classes to tread upon - and thus the royals were not the sole inhabitants of the city and all its stories.

The city itself was rather dense in shape, although that had always been the habit of booming humanoid settlements. Homes, inns and shops were lined close together, seemingly forming one unified mass like a great stone. Only roads and thin alleyways acted as a means of traversing the place like ravines that cut through the mass. Social creatures working together side by side, society ran like clockwork in the settlement and the surrounding manors that supported it. Harvest and trading seasons came and went, people traveled to and fro, and the streets always bustled with the pattering feet of people and slamming hooves of animals alike. Coming and going performance artisans were commonplace, music often dancing in the air and mingling with the other sounds of travel and voices in the air. Journey-weathered caravans, simpleton farmers, craft artisans, blacksmiths, seamstresses - they all walked among each other along the main streets as the great barred shadows cast down from the castle on the hill. The town bustled with all kinds of life, attending to businesses that yielded joy and riches alike.

The peoples’ appearance varied as much as their pastimes. For one example, a small but lively stage surrounded by a number of seats in a structure similar to that of a town’s square held all kinds of performers, both local and traveling alike. Once made of wood but now built of lasting beautiful stone, the octagonal stage presented elves, infernals, goldbloods, as well as all kinds of folk who looked as if they were hybrids of different species of animals. Some had various degrees of scales on their skin, from a mild dotting here and there to their whole bodies being covered in the formations. The latter form tended to have reptile-like snouts instead of a classically human face, as well as lacked hair and even sometimes possessing small tails - regardless of their appearance, these people were called ‘Scaleborns’, and simply had different lines and concentrations of reptile ancestry in their veins. Another minority racial group were the Mamali whom, like the Scaleborn, were humanoids with animalistic traits. Mamali typically lived in regions their animal counterparts lived in - so, in the temperate grasslands and nearby forests of the kingdom capital, most subgroups of the race had minor traits of cats, canines, deer, or the occasional wolves, bears and rodents. Whiskers, patches of fur on parts of the body such as the chest, limbs and ears, small tails of various shapes, having somewhat heightened senses, possessing behavioral or personality traits shared with their respective animals - these were all common traits they had.

One such scaleborn could be seen dancing on the stage during the current day, accompanied by a mamali as her partner in performing. The red-haired scaleborn could often pass as human thanks to the deep green sash she often tied around her face like a mask. The performer, Mona, had noticeable dottings of reddish-brown scales on her neck and jaw, as well as on the lower halves of her cheeks. She also had little dottings on her collarbones, her chest and on the backs of her hands - but all her scales were nothing a second sash, clothing and some gloves couldn’t cover up. Very quiet in her personality, Mona chose to perform with instruments and dancing over her voice, and thus her lute played a nice tune for herself and her current fellow performer to dance to. The mamali, by contrast to her partner, didn’t need to cover up to pass as human. Her natural hair color being a pale blonde, the extra bits of fuzz that developed on her limbs and ears were hard to notice against her pale skin unless one looked hard enough. The catlike shape of her pupils were subtle too, somewhat like very round dark seeds that became completely circular when dilated by the dark or alcohol. Like her partner, however, the buns of her hair were dyed using pigments slightly tinged with magic to get their vibrant hues. Pale pink bangs hanging over her crystal blue eyes, she sang with a sweet, high-pitched voice. Going by the stage name of Belle, she and Mona were travelling performers making due with coins picked up off stages and cobblestone roads alike. They each even had rake-like tools on their backs they would pull out mid-performance to sweep crowd-donated coins closer to themselves as to guard them. Even as most people were pretty respectful, some were still greedy little bastards who tried to take all the circles of silver, copper and gold for themselves. But luckily, with Lady Suzuki and a pair of accompanying guards sitting on the dark stone benches, her very presence was enough to deter most thieves - even as she was simply sitting in her silky maroon dress, watching the show as she let her little Sugar play and snuggle between her fine, almost coffee-toned fingers. And so the performers played on with much less worry than normal - but, as both their natures decreed, they never completely dropped their guard, keeping a more mild version of their usual vigilance about them even as handfuls of commonfolk came and went to watch their show.

The sound of metal clanking against metal could be heard down one of the four streets near the performing stage, audible in the distance to the audience if they listened in.    
The sounds came from a blacksmith’s establishment, where a master was busy teaching his apprentices about the forge. The master’s distant infernal heritage showing itself with small horns that poked out from his forehead, a few beads of sweat dripped down past the horns and curly red locks, down his deep brown skin as he felt the heat of the twin furnaces in the room. Even as the open doors and windows helped waft out the hot air, it was still plenty hot in the workshop - and it was especially so to Jay’s students, the young humans lacking the fire resistance devil-borns naturally had. Maybe that’s why he jokingly called his establishment ‘Doomboy Workshop’ sometimes? The nickname would give people a little laugh at least. Water hissed loudly as one of the students plunged his latest blade into a large wooden bucket of water. The metal quickly stopped glowing red-hot as it cooled, and the student adjusted the rectangular frames of his glasses before wiping the layer of sweat from his forehead. Black hair formed small, loose curls over his brow, and his soft-sounding voice echoed a bit in the enclosed space of the wood and stone building.

“Hey Jay, it’s starting to get late. The sun’s setting, the light looks a bit dimmer than before. I’m going to head out of here for today - is that alright?”

The infernal hummed at hearing the call of his name, then walked over to the bucket to take a look at the apprentice’s work. Nothing was cracking, the shape was clean - just a bit of sharpening and it’d be ready to sell to the crown. He smiled and closed his ruby red eyes, patting the younger man’s shoulder in a friendly way.

“Yeah, of course Jo! You did a good job on the swords today. Really, you’re learning the craft well. Especially for a part-timer here - I’m honestly kind of impressed how well you’re doing, given everything you've got going on. I’ll make sure the rest of the process goes well with your latest sword there. Go, have a good night down at the shop. ”

The two men chuckled a bit before the younger moved to grab his bag, packing up the handful of personal belongings he carried with him before waving goodbye as he walked out of the door. Lady Nox and Lady Zerinchi were walking up the same street, loitering a bit near the blacksmith’s abode and enjoying the heat emanating from it, the air a bit crisp and cool. Jo was surprised to see them and their guards around, shyly waving hello and getting a small nervous bout of blush on his cheeks when the two women smiled and waved back before going back to chatting with one another. The setting sun painted the sky in beautiful orange tones, its light dimming as night started to approach. Such pretty colors often distracted the young man as he walked back towards his other place of work - an apothecary’s shop, where he worked as an assistant and apprentice alike. In the annals of the building, he handled all kinds of herbs and solutions as he learned about the field, but he also studied the few tomes the owner had in stock and learned about the application of magic in medicine. He could do little more than mold the skin and the flesh just beneath in order to close wounds, but even that little dabble into transformation magic had plenty of use to both himself and his customers.

As the young human walked down the street with his head pointed at the sky, he made a small yelp as he was nearly tripped by a figure dashing down the street, staying close to the walls. By the time he turned around, all he saw was a flash of a tan cloak before it disappeared, seemingly into an alleyway or backroad. Not everyone was polite, but so was the nature of the world - and so Jo shrugged it off and kept on his way.

As the figure dashed along shadow-cast streets made damp by a shower of rain earlier in the day, he let out a small relieved breath, glad he dodged being spotted by the nobles. People like him stayed away from the aristocrats in most cases, and for good reason...

_ But why was that the case? Why did the man travel in the shadows when the luminant sun shone light and warmth down from above? _


	2. Frayed Strand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All strands of luck will fray eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have made this chapter longer than intended. Whoops lmao

_ Why did the man travel in the shadows when the luminant sun shone light and warmth down from above? _

After quickly whipping his head over his shoulder to see he was alone, the tan-cloaked man’s dash slowed to a walk, allowing him to even his breathing. A half-minute after dodging the noblewomen, he spotted a little passageway back onto the main road, but more importantly he saw the parchments hanging by nails driven into the side of whatever building he happened to be near. Given that no one seemed to be on his tail, he cautiously approached to take a look at the signs and- ah, there was the core reason he avoided the crown and it’s forces. Among a dozen faces of grizzled men, hooded women and the single lizard-headed scaleborn, the young man saw his own face before him, albeit in an artist’s drawing. Just like the other parchment signs both on that wall and all around the city, the paper branded a classic phrase in reddened ink - WANTED - DEAD OR ALIVE, followed by varying amounts of wealth as reward for bringing the listed scoundrel to so-called justice. With a flick of a cloaked arm and a sound which was drowned out in the crowd of other noises, the sign was gone. Only the rusted nail in the wall provided evidence of the sign ever having existed there.

The man, at least in theory, liked to follow a similar style in his adventures in the shadows, to come and go with little trace of himself being left behind. It made sense how few knew his name, but enough knew about his antics that he was far from a secret. In truth, the cloaked figure’s nature made that reality all but inevitable. Although part of him wished to be a secret, he knew his hunger for thrill and his flair for theatrics could never allow him to stay hidden forever. 

At least running away had been a pretty effective solution to the problem of getting caught. Holding the tattered paper in his hands, he looked closer at what his listing had in store. He hummed as he saw the bounty on his head - five thousand and five hundred silver coins? That could feed small town’s worth of people for well over a year, or arm four dozen guards with years of rations, full uniforms of armor and fine-crafted weapons - actually, probably closer to five dozen, the more the rouge pondered as he felt a slight knot begin to form in his stomach.

Using his free hand, he felt one of the small drawstring bags he had tied around his waist by one of two pale purple-dyed ropes, feeling the weight of the coins within. Hmm… between the gold, silver and copper coins he’d snatched from the ground or off unsuspecting townsfolk, he probably had about three-hundred silver on his person. Ten copper coins for one silver, ten silver for one gold, and he had a mix of all three in there. He was glad he had the foresight to line the inside of the long-stolen bag with sheep’s wool, he’d nearly been caught a few times due to the clinking of the stolen metal having revealed his position. Especially after leaping from heights like that of a low roof, they’d really make a short but loud sound then. Oh, how many times has he had to make those kinds of jumps like that when fleeing guards? More times than he could recall, but even with the stress of the moment, he enjoyed looking back on the memories nonetheless.

Looking back on memories and taking up bits of his focus with fiddling helped take his mind off of feelings of uneasiness and undying vigilance.

Where lies riches is where thieves will follow, that was simply the truth of the world. And one of many truths of a thief’s life was to stray away from the light, quick feet skittering from one alleyway to another to avoid the shining glint of the sword of so-called justice. A penchant of fifty-five hundred silver was more than enough money to spur many people to kill. The rogue has had higher bounties on his head in other kingdoms he’s ran away from, but with the particular kingdom he was in… It didn’t take him long to learn that the Lim Kingdom had a reputation for strictness in its punishments. So whereas the price on his head would have landed him merely a sum of years in a dank prison cell under another king’s rule, the same fortune would likely earn him a sword through his chest here in the current land. 

As much as he could stomach seeing violence happening to others, thinking of such grisly images happening to himself would still give him chills at times. 

The kingdom was full of people and bustling with booming cities - even if he could say he agreed with the logic of ‘what difference does a single life make?’, he still had warmth in the depths of his heart, beneath the mask of the almost characteristic villain he liked to play behind sometimes. He knew he could stomach blood by seeing and spilling it himself, but seeing a fellow man drop to the ground after a strike of one’s own sword…

Without even thinking, Stephen had stopped walking and started slowly reaching up to his chest. There was a little bump visible in the fabric, clearly made by something smaller than the palm of one’s hand. His hand drew closer and closer as the rogue felt his thoughts start to spiral.

Stephen needed to think about something else.

Quickly putting his hand down to his side, he searched for the quickest thing he could use to distract himself. He looked back to the sign in his hand and saw something that made him chuckle ever so quietly. It was quickly written next to the portrait of his face, reading the words ‘violet crow’ followed by a few question marks. He wasn’t exactly surprised it was written there - thanks to magic-imbued dyes, artists had access to every hue one could think of, and so his purple hair was depicted in the drawing. 

Of course they didn’t know his real name. The wanted signs always rely on colors and faces rather than names anyways, thus why there wasn’t even a line of space to write a name in the format of the signs. Stephen found it rather laughable, and so the sound mingled with the faint echoes of the bustling streets bouncing in the alleyways. At least the demand did draw in artisans commissioned by the crown. Traders and customers would then follow the artists in suit, and more revenue would be generated all around. More money to steal, at the very least - even if it had the cost of bad publicity.

With his free hand, Stephen put down his somewhat tattered hood and ran it through the smooth locks on his head. The shade of plum the artist used wasn’t quite accurate, but it wasn’t terribly far off either. The vibrant tone he used to dye both the main strands and the trimmed sides of his head was definitely a bold choice, one that many so-called ‘proper’ people would see as preposterous. ‘To Hell with them,’ or so the thief would say in his mind with a faint grin on his features.

He rather liked the nickname of Violet Crow, it had a nice ring to it. Most criminals withheld all identifiers, simply moving as shadows in the night. A few, however, chose little nicknames and titles from themselves, or were given said words from other alley-walkers. The latter was the case for Stephen, sometimes known as the Violet Crow - his telltale locks and tendency for causing noisy distractions for getaways laying the foundations for the nickname. 

Stephen would often chuckle at the antics of his past heists in distant towns and kingdoms to his comrades. Although he was capricious and never stayed with partners in crime for long, he found a kick in making friendly jokes with kindred souls. Sometimes Stephen told the story of how he lit a large chicken coup on fire and, after that city’s guards failed to catch him, he stuck around in the shadows to see some townspeople hosting a feast of the roasted birds the day afterwards. Other times, he told a tale of breaking and entering, a close-call chase through home after home as he left a painful trail of glass from the windows that he shattered in his rush. He always enjoyed showing off his tattered cloak as evidence of the tale, pointing out the places which the shards undid the weave of the fabric. Ah, those were such fun times, they were the kinds of memories that sparked joy in his heart.

Stephen folded up the damning sign and shoved it one of the three bags he carried on his waist as his chuckle grew more mellowed and quiet. He’d find a place to burn the paper later - for now, he had an ambition to follow.

Feeling the big empty burlap sack he had stuffed into the bag next to the paper, he knew it would come in handy for his scheme. He felt along his belt where it lay covered by his cloak, the fabric hanging down to just above his knees. He felt the hilts of the daggers and knives he always carried on him, but he also felt something he didn’t usually carry on his side as well - a trio of chistles just like ones found in a stonecarver’s arsenal. The ones he swiped were particularly big, probably the biggest the artist had and measuring from where they hung at his hip down to where his cloak ended. But it wasn’t a senseless swipe - he had a plan in mind, and he’d need the tools to pull off his scheme.

The treasure he coveted this time was the Coronation Stars- a regional name for the set of jewel-encrusted items that adorned new Lim kings upon their crowning day. There was a scepter whose nature-inspired vines sparkled with gold leaf. There was a ceremonial orb topped with a holy symbol and rumored to be made of solid gold. There was a necklace that framed the new king’s collarbones with rubies, sapphires, emeralds all laced with gold. Over his shoulders, a heavy cape lined with light grey fur would be placed upon him and held on his regal body by an elegant-looking gold chain. And, of course, there was the crown, it’s golden arches studded with crystal clear diamonds. 

The task was risky and ambitious, even in Stephen’s own opinion. It was definitely his biggest heist to date, both in terms of risk and reward. He had stolen from monarchs indirectly in the past, but he usually had enough restraint to not challenge kings and queens themselves. Instead he’d go for the lackeys lower down on the ladder of power- he’d steal bags of coins from tax-collecting carts, gold-plated pins of minor dukes and duchesses, or breads and small delicacies being brought in from culinary artisans. The closest he’d get to a king is by sneaking into the backrooms, kitchens, or seldom-used courtyards of a castle. Never before had he tried to infiltrate somewhere like a royal hall or throne room. But, just like his where he lived, the Violet Crow changed what he did as he traveled through his life and his adventures - his ambitions carrying him like blackened wings to greater and greater heights.

If one wishes to fly high, balance is something vital to keep in mind. If a bird chooses to fly too close to the sun, it will have no choice but to face the maw of its flames. 

At the back of his mind, the notion of failure nagged at Stephen- but at ambitious times like these, he always pushed that notion aside. To blare over the doubt, he would repeat little narcissistic mantras in his head. His thoughts would often follow along lines as follows. 

_ There’s no way I can fail. No way, no way. I’ve beat the system every time. I’ll get away with it again. Done it hundreds of times before, and I’ll do it again. C’mon, you’ve got this Stephen! You’re the best, and the best can’t fail at this now! _

He’d finally gotten to where he’d wanted - the castle itself. It was a well fortified structure of stone, but it lacked an exterior wall. However, the choice of having a fair deal of space between the edge of the city and the castle itself had its practical reasons behind it. Not only did the incline of the hill itself make building a wall a bit tricky, but it also served as space where King Daniel’s soldiers could fight in case of invasion, with the added bonus of having the high ground on his own home field. It also allowed intruders to be easily spotted on the open grasses. He started walking in alleyways at the very edge of the city, keeping a hawk’s eye out for patrolling guards that might line the castle walls at any moment. 

It ended up taking him a half-hour to do a good scan, but he found himself in a good situation at the end of it. The soles of his black boots would make only minor sounds on stone, and such sounds were muffled completely in grass. As he ran up to the castle and towards one of the gardens that laid near the foot of the structure. The last guard he saw had made their way inside the castle about a minute prior, likely rotating positions with another guard. Only moments after that, he saw that the faint human figure he saw in the lookout window of the nearest tower had disappeared, likely another rotation. This was his chance to slip by unseen, and he’d need every second he could get. He broke into a mad dash, clearing the plain and jumping over a few short hedges before practically embracing the stone bricks of the curved tower wall, panting hard from the sprint.

Where on one hip he carried daggers, on the other he carried a long spool of rope, knowing just how versatile of a tool it could be. He pushed down his hood in hopes that, in the event he were spotted, he might be mistaken as a guard from afar. He then reached down and grabbed one of the chisels from his belt. He had already taken precautions in his plan - the chisel he grabbed had a strong knot tied to it, and he’d tied the other end of rope around his waist, a brown line along the twin purple cords he usually had tied around him. He quickly and decisively slammed the chisel into one of the lines between bricks, tugging down on it a bit to test its stability. Judging that it was safe enough, he grabbed the other two chisels on his person and wielded one in each hand. Flicking some of the rope off its little hook to hang loose, he quickly stepped onto the first chisel and slammed the other pair into the wall. He then tugged on the rope to wiggle and finally pull the first chisel up, holding up his weight with one arm. Having taken a small break to get air back in his muscles, he was able to hold and lift himself up enough to get some progress on the wall. He really only needed two chistles to scale the wall, but he brought the third as a precaution, knowing the consequences of falling would almost certainly be fatal. The third chisel provided both mild rest when he stood on it, as well as a failsafe to catch him or at least slow his fall. Feeling little thumps against his chest as he moved, he knew he had to survive.

And so he climbed up the tower in the dimming light of the evening, sweat dripping down his brow with the continuous exertion of his muscles. Guards going out on patrol wouldn’t look towards the tower, they had no reason to - who would think to infiltrate in such a fashion? Besides, they’d usually grow at least somewhat weary after a day of patrols, which began at the dawn of each day. And so the criminal was able to make it up to the roof of the castle without a hitch - if one excluded the little slips he had when a chisel wasn’t completely in, forcing Stephen to act on quick instinct to restabilize himself in the rock climbing, of course. He took a minute to breathe, but he knew he didn’t have time to rest more thoroughly - in order to escape, he’d need to have at least some light left in the sky to get into the forest just outside part of the city’s border. Stephen took a moment to look out to the forest as he gathered his items in hand, finding the sea of lush emerald green expansive and beautiful.

Refocusing himself for the heist, he ran across the rooftop of the castle, which was mostly comprised of stone, but had holes covered with large planks of wood that could be opened and closed from within. They acted as chimneys of sorts that could help filter out hot air, smoke, or magically poisoned powder alike. The rogue made his way to a certain slanted roof, having learned from fellow criminals gushing about riches that it was a royal and religious hall where the coveted pieces of regality were stored - it was essentially a church slapped right onto the side of the huge building. Once he got there, he noticed an uneven brick jutting out among the rest. It looked sturdy enough where it was, so Stephen slammed the rope-tied chisel into the crack where it stuck out from. He gave the tool a test, and it held in place when he gave the rope a strong tug. For good measure, he stepped on the top of the chisel, burying it a little deeper into the stone as his hands worked at his waist, undoing the pale brown rope. Once it was released, he fed the free end into the opening in the roof, kneeling down and lifting the wooden board enough to get it through. He kept this up for minutes until he felt he had a good amount, and so he laid on his belly and peeked under the wood. The rope dangled all the way down to a table, hanging just above it as it was illuminated by different colors of light filtering in from a huge stained-glass window. Stephen stood and pried the big plank up until he could slip his legs beneath it. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and his resolve, gripped the rope hard, and started his adventure down by sliding his body beneath the board. The rope in his hands and between his tight-pressed thighs, he felt confident that he could slide down unnoticed.

It ended up being a misplaced confidence, as the turn of events quickly went asunder. Not even a minute passed before the rope stuttered as it dealt with Stephen’s full weight, dropping Stephen’s body and heart down with it. He did not fall completely, however, and only fell half his height. Even as his heart raced and adrenaline pumped, he did not have time to linger like a frightened bird in the air. He tried his best to keep sliding down, his nerves tense from the unwelcome surprise, but was met once again with misfortune. The cause of his fall had been fraying of the rope he dangled upon, the old used cord reaching its final strands of endurance after the dozens of times it had been used before. The faulty point merely an arm’s length above his sweating brow. Panicked, he tried letting go of the rope in order to catch it again a second later, but when he enacted this, the rope completely snapped.

Stephen was left to the mercy of gravity alone as he and most of the rope fell downwards. He crashed down onto a decorated wooden table, splinters blossoming to life as the force of impact tore the furniture apart. In all fairness, the rouge was fortunate to only suffer minor damage - still, he hissed as wooden spikes drilled into his sides and back. He quickly swallowed his pain and ceased his noise as realization hit him. The crash was loud in an especially quiet part of the palace, someone was bound to have heard it. It’d been years since the last king was crowned, the hall he was in was only used on occasions, yet the prized Coronation Stars were kept here. Only a couple seconds after the crash, he could’ve sworn he heard a distant, feminine yell. The criminal had to move, he had to go now!

Stephe n struggled to find proper grip for a moment, but using the wreckage he rose to his feet. He had no time to lose. Yanking the trio reddened splinters out of his body with stifled sounds of pain, he dashed over to the cabinet which held the treasures. Normally Stephen would’ve picked the small lock on the cabinet, but the sand in his hourglass ran near-empty. In a moment of impulse and brute force, he yanked the lock clean off of its thin handle, throwing open the doors with reckless abandon. He gazed at the treasures within - the scepter stood upright, the cape hung down off of a hook, and the necklace, crown and orb sat in glass displays on a higher shelf. Such beautiful works of gemstones and gold, even a single one would sell for thousands of gold coins. Fair chance he could buy the castle he was standing in if he could sell off the whole collection.

That’s when Stephen heard boots clamoring, alerting him that they were close to the massive wooden doors. With nowhere else to run, he threw himself into the cabinet, scrunching himself down to fit under the shelf and reaching out to close the doors. Stephen cursed internally as the doors refused to click into place, remaining cracked to an infuriating degree. He heard the echoes of handles being shaken. Acting only on panic and instinct, Stephen threw the cape over his face and front, bending down slightly more to hide his whole height behind the thick fabric. Even the creaking sounds of the doors made Stephen shiver. Cursing at himself in his mind, he wondered what was he thinking - was he trying to hide from children in a game of hide and seek? This was life and death on the line! He reached up to his chest, clutching the bump beneath his cloak with a clammy, trembling hand. Why on earth did his instincts tell him to freeze?

The thick fur of the inner cape absorbed the heat of his breaths and the beads of sweat that had formed on Stephen’s forehead. He kept himself as quiet as he could, although he couldn’t help but softly hyperventilate as he heard footsteps.

Just after he took his hiding place, two female guards had stood in astonishment as they discovered the messy scene in front of them. 

“What the hell!? What happened?”

The woman’s partner was much less focused on the ‘why’ of the situation at hand, instead focusing on results. This was a time for action, not for pondering! And so a higher-pitched voice spoke out.

“Ask questions later! C’mon, the intruder couldn’t have gotten far!”

“Where? We came in the only entrance! Where could they have even gone?”

**“** That doesn’t matter right now! We need to search, not argue!”

From the voices he heard, the hidden thief deduced that only two guards seemed to have arrived, which provided a fleeting moment of relief that died as he heard the boots getting closer. They kept getting closer, shifting like the beads of sweat on his forehead. Closer still, boots thumping to match his pounding heartbeat. Closer still, a curse of frustration was shouted into the air. Closer— the lower-pitched voice called out.

“What the hell?”

“How on Earth did the intruder break the table and get away so fast?”

“Hey!”

The higher-pitched voice made a sound of exasperated confusion before her fellow guardswoman continued, no longer shouting.

“What happened here? The lock’s gone… Wait, why are the doors cracked?” 

Boots scuttled closer and Stephen’s heart stopped for a moment in fear. He and the guards were practically standing face to face, only wood and cloth standing separating the two parties. Stephen held his breath as he heard one of the cabinet doors open. The higher-pitched voice mumbled out a second later.

“Odd, everything’s in place…”

Stephen’s thoughts raced in his mind in tempo with his heartbeat. His muscles froze as he felt his cloth covering shift in the guards grasp. The guard had paused ever so slightly. Had she heard something, perhaps? In a moment, Stephen’s final camouflage was gone. 

The three figures stood in statuesque fashion, resembling a fine painting or sculpture depicting feelings of surprise and fear. All faces were so expressive, shock and mortification so clear. To Stephen’s left, he saw a short freckled woman with an orange shirt beneath her chestplate, wide green eyes framed by bronze-colored glasses. To his right, he saw a taller elven woman with long, sky blue hair and an undershirt to match.

Whoever made the sound was irrelevant. The small noise of shock rose out of one of their throats regardless, cleaving through the invisible bonds of shock that held them in place and spurring everyone into motion. Stephen rushed forward, as if he had bounced off the back of the cabinet and felt the grasps of hands clasping around his upper arms, attempting to stop him. Yet momentum kept dragging the rogue forward, causing him to lose all his footing and the whole trio to stumble into one another. In only a second, Stephen found himself laying on the floor, half-pinned by the short, orange-haired woman fallen over his chest. Both guards had fallen to their knees, but they still maintained at least one hand’s grip on his arms. The elf let go of the rogue for just a moment to lift her fellow servant of the crown. Stephen tried to shift away from them when the weight was off, but their arms quickly formed loops around his shoulders. 

Stephen refused to go down without a fight. If he was going to be taken down, it would have to be while kicking and screaming. 

Just after the trio gathered their footing, Stephen tried to kick the gingerette into the jagged edges of the broken table. But because he could not rotate himself enough to get in a good kick to the gut, he only managed to give a forceful shove to the guard’s hip, which came at the cost of Stephen’s footing yet again. He threw his leg forward in an attempt to regain balance. This proved to be a very vulnerable position as the golden-eyed elf grabbed his back leg, her partner handling the one thrown forward. The thief tried to shift away, but he had already been taken off his feet as the women lifted his legs into the air. Stephen’s upper body was tipped back as his center of gravity was shifted against his will. Stephen shouted as he tried to bend his legs and get out of their grasp- but the grips held steady, moving back and forth with his legs and shoulders. With them taking an arm and a leg each, Stephen was effectively restrained. Wild thrashing would release one limb for mere moments here and there, but the combat training of the royal henchwomen made the struggle fruitless. Stephen kept it up regardless, shouting and moving in increasingly desperate resistance all the way to the king’s nearby throne room, his mind screaming as loud as his voice. If nothing else, he didn’t want to give the guards the satisfaction of an easy capture.

Upon hearing the commotion of the useless flailing, the half dozen guards that stood watch in the hall opened up the large darkwood doors to let in the captured criminal and his restrainers. But they were not the only souls summoned by the sounds. A regal-looking man dressed in a formal suit of royal blue ran into the scene from the back of the hall, trying to gather information. The royal advisor witnessed the clamoring and listened to a quick report of the situation from one of the guards. His lips curved upwards beneath thick bangs as blue as his gold-accented suit, his face mostly obscured by the fluffy hairdo. With a faint chuckle, he darted from the hall whence he came to go fetch the king. 

Stephen, seeing how he was trapped in a circle of swords as soon as he was carried into the room, stifled most of his efforts to escape. He knew he was agile, but he had poor odds against the swarm of guards - especially as one of them threw the daggers and chisels off his belt. He still wasn’t about to be completely cooperative, the lion’s pride in his heart refusing to back down. As the guard pair that had delivered the rogue set down his kicking legs, they needed to use force to get him into a bowing position on his knees. As if on cue, one of the guards gripped the scoundrel’s purple mohawk and yanked his head downwards to gaze at the floor, causing him to yelp in a mix of surprise and mild pain. 

The advisor had swiftly returned, the quick tapping footsteps of his fancy dress shoes followed by the thumps of King Daniel’s tread, his heeled boots as dark as his demeanor could be. Even without being able to see the monarch, Stephen could feel his peridot glare piercing him, a shiver running down his spine. To the masses of his kingdom, his bright eyes and smile brought about an air of warmth and hospitality. All criminals like Stephen could see was a mask when he gave such a face, knowing how fast his expressions could sour and his commands to turn cold and cunningly cruel. Loyalty was perhaps the thing he demanded most from his people, so to be deified was a travesty to him. Both sights and rumors of what he’d order as punishments tainted his signature shining greens with a deep murk of crimson to those at the underbelly of society. It was no wonder that a harsh atmosphere followed the strict king into the room, flowing through Stephen’s tan cloak and down into his bones as the echoes of things said about the king bounced in his skull. Even through the imaginary noise, Dan’s voice pierced through as he spoke to the advisor - even if in actuality, his tone had dull boredom laced in his irritation. 

“Why did you summon me, brother Elias? Must I be present for a simple peasant’s hearing?”

The advisor’s voice had a tinge of shy nervousness poking even through his formality. He didn’t show his face at big events and gatherings of the masses - nor did he show his face much at all through his hair. Many had hardly heard of the guy thanks to his absentee record. Perhaps he wasn’t a man for the crowds?

“I know he doesn’t look like much, but he’s got a bounty on his head. One of our subjects mentioned seeing flyers with his face. A thief.”

“So? The vermin exist everywhere. Rats steal from rats, why should I care? This is not my realm of affairs. I spend quite a sum in paying the guards to handle these things.”

“But Your Highness, you know you are the spearhead of the common people, and so you must deal with them directly sometimes.”

The king made a small groan of annoyance.

“I know brother - however, you also know that I don’t like to really touch on them myself. Like ticks crawling off a rat crushed under a boot’s stomp, a bad reputation follows from dealing with the vermin.”

“That is true, Your Majesty, however pests only fester when left unattended.”

“Do you not see yourself as worthy to deal with such a simple pest, Elias?”

“No, I know I could handle this myself. However, I summoned you because this case addresses you in particular. This rat, he proved himself to be greedier than most and dared to steal directly from you.”

“Pardon?”

“The Coronation Stars. He tried to take the regalia of our royal bloodline. I wonder if he even knows how long the pieces have been passed down.”

Stephen could practically feel the king’s anger grow, and it pulled a tiny, quiet whimper out of the thief's throat without his mind’s command.

“Is that so? This bastard rat sure has quite the gall. Show me his face, I want to see this arrogant fool.”

On command, the long-haired elf yanked Stephen’s skull back upwards by the grip in his hair. Thinking quick, he tried to put on a facade of bravery and determination - but it was a mask with clear cracks in it. His skin a touch too pale, a slight quivering of his lip, the little squirm he made against the guards holding his wrists behind his back. Daniel draped himself over his throne, his usually gleaming green eyes burning with a low, subtle kind of aggression as they bored into the rich violet eyes of the criminal before him. Seated atop his throne of red and gold, his demeanor was like a snake in the grass, biding its time before it would strike, sinking its fangs right into its prey and pumping it full of deadly venom. There was silence in the room for a moment, then it was broken as Daniel made a small sigh and turned to the brother standing right by his side.

“So are the heirlooms safe?”

Elias tucked a bit of thick blue hair behind one of his ears as he spoke.

“Oddly enough, yes. Rather surprising, given that the scene supposedly looked like the aftermath of a bull’s charge. It was only replaceables that were damaged. Although…”

Elias paused for a moment, then turned his head and loudly called down the hall adjacent from the throne, seeing a familiar capped figure in the distance.

“Neil! Call the best handmaiden you can find in a timely manner, and send her to the cathedral hall!”

There was a faint clattering of boots in the distance, followed by a call before the boots ran away.

“Right away Lord Elias!”

Daniel raised a brow and paused in confusion for a second - why did he call the head of the castle servants for such a request?

“Care to explain that?”

The advisor pulled a bit at one of the white frilled cuffs of his sleeves as he turned back to his brother.

“The guards reported finding him hiding himself ever so poorly. He draped the garment over his head and left himself like that. If anything, it seemed like he was pretending to be a coat stand!”

He was cut off by the king chuckling, followed by some laughs from the guards.

“Hah! What is he, a child?”

Stephen remained silent as embarrassment furrowed his brow. After a few moments, the atmosphere shifted back to its previous seriousness. The king took the initiative to speak.

“But what does that have to do with anything?”

“The mahogany table that’s usually kept in the hall, it took the brunt of the damage. It was as if a hog was dropped on it, based on what I was told. But look at the stains on his cloak. No doubt he was pierced.”

Elias pointed a finger and flicked it between the somewhat sizeable Stephen’s sides, the tan, ragged fabric tinged red from his blood, with the king making a low hum in response.

“So you’re saying he got his filthy peasant blood all over everything?”

Elias nodded, and Daniel practically growled as he turned his gaze back to the scoundrel. Before Stephen could even try to defend himself with a false excuse, another guard came in the room with the broken rope and the shards of wood that had dug into the rogue’s flesh. The tall but timid man walked forward to wordlessly present the evidence to the monarch by placing it on the ground between Stephen and the judging king. Not that it was needed. A small squeak slipped from Stephen’s lips as he watched the advisor pluck the coil of rope from the small pile, his hands slightly dainty for a man. The rouge did not like the faint curve that came to the king’s lips as his brother stepped out the few stairs leading up to the throne, the cord between his hands.

“Perhaps we should use this, my Lord? It’d make for quite a karmic show.”

“That is true…”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop slightly while the king hummed and pondered, eyeing the criminal up and down. 

“Say...Is this a well known criminal?”

The fellow nobleman chuckled, followed by Daniel himself. “How do you think I’d know?”

“Ah you’re right, my mistake for asking. How often do you even leave the castle grounds anyways?”

The two brothers had a short laugh before Elias chimed in, pointing to the orange-haired guard standing at Stephen’s side.

“You were one of the ones who caught him. Tris, right? Search those bags of his, see if there’s anything telling on his person.”

The short human nodded, using one finger to adjust her glasses as she kneeled. Stephen tried to resist for a moment, but a guard standing at his other side grabbed his shoulder to keep him still. Meanwhile, she reached for her belt and went to one of the sheaths, drawing the dagger standard to guards. She made quick work of the light-colored rope that tied the bags two him, letting its chopped pieces fall to the ground. Humming at seeing there was another rope remaining, she opened the bags one by one. Spilling the coins out on the floor, there was an irritated noise from Daniel as he saw the dozens fall out. The second was full of dried meat, small loaves and hardtack. The young adult was confused at the third bag, opening it and dumping it out to find a crumpled burlap sack and- oh? A sheet of paper? She opened it up and flinched.

“Fifty-five hundred silver?”

“Excuse me?”

The young woman made a tiny squeak at her king’s exclamation and quickly turned the parchment around in her hands, jade eyes wide over pale freckled skin. The temperature of the room seemed to chill further by the second as the king stood up from his throne and walked up to the woman, taking the sign into his hands and examining it.

The king’s face of rage seemed to melt as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, resetting his composure. He waved his brother over with a wave, then handed the condemning sign to him with a calmness that only unnerved the criminal more. His voice seemed innocent, but the bitterness just beneath the surface, as well as the wide smile he gave as he looked down to Stephen - to the thief, his teeth may as well have been sharpened fangs.

“Say, brother Elias…  _ How long has it been since we’ve thrown in a rat to the pit?” _

Fuck. It only took the king’s last word to be uttered to get Stephen’s kneeling form trembling. His skin paled and his widened violet eyes seemed to follow suit. Every urge in the convict’s mind and body was yelling at him, urging him to run, to shout innocence, to fight, to do  _ something.  _ Yet he may as well have been encased in ice, for he remained equally still and shivering at the foot of the cold-blooded king. 

The casual way in which the royals continued their conversation was so ill-fitting in the mood of the room. Even the guards seemed to be slightly chilled by the atmosphere.

“Just over a fortnight, if I recall correctly. Isn’t that earlier than usual, sire?”

The king only gave a dark chuckle as he turned around and took the steps up to this throne.

“Slightly, yes. But that doesn’t matter. Our kingdom has no need for stains of treason, we needn’t keep filth like him around to keep it spreading.” 

The king paused for a moment as he took a seat, a wicked grin spreading across his features.

“You know, it’s a good thing you asked the guards to strip him of his possessions. It lets us take the trash out faster.”

Daniel chuckled a little more, enjoying the little rush he got when acting near-villainously. He couldn’t show this side openly to the public, couldn’t let the common folk know about how he enjoyed playing out an evil type of character. Quick judgements based on his fun would tint his reputation too much - and so it was a delicacy when he got to unwind his coils behind closed doors.

Although Elias didn’t enjoy such things as much as Daniel, he still had a faint smirk.

“So shall they send him off?”

“It’s as if you read my mind, brother dearest. Guards, take him out to the pit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah Dan and Elias actually have characterization this time? 
> 
> Ok but in all seriousness that was a reason on the list why I wanted to do this rewrite. And why this chapter is longer than I'd initially intended. Hey, more content to enjoy though, right?


	3. Thing of Infamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horrid rumors have great power in making terrified tongues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten days to update is longer than I'd wanted but shhhh  
> Have 6k words, have fun

“Guards, take him out to the pit!”

A choked sound escaped Stephen’s throat as hands closed down upon him, forcefully bringing him up to his feet. The world started to spin around him as his thoughts whirled like a hurricane.  _ Could this even be real? _

He’d heard tales about the kingdom, mainly in spiraling words about the riches hidden behind locked doors from fellow criminals. But all the luster had died from the conversations when anyone had dared mentioned  _ that damned pit _ , the liveliness of the interaction replaced by a spine-tingling chill. When Stephen had asked a fellow thief to explain a few months prior, the mamali spoke in hushed tones as their eyes and limbs jittered due to fear. Stephen had also asked other criminals if the subject ever came up. No one knew all too much about that place- but all who spoke of it told of how being sent there meant certain doom. 

Some guessed it was a sort of torture chamber or dungeon. Others guessed it was a convenient, out-of-the-way place to gather a circle of mages and incinerate a criminal until they were nothing but ash, or to tie to a stake and burn without making a big show. Some suggested that the king had a pack of bloodthirsty hounds, and the pit is where they would feed. Perhaps the hole held a bear who claimed it as its den. A few would even suspect a beast was the culprit, though there weren’t too many creatures people knew about that could ravage a man in the way the stories told. A gryphon who made its nest beneath the earth, a canin cat - a creature that resembled a hybrid of a wolf and a mountain lion - who’d fallen in the hole and the king decided to take pity on.

But there was a noticeable flaw with most theories of why the alcove was so deadly. Regardless of what truly happened in there, there was never anything left to bury. No remains, not even bones were ever found from victims of the pit. At most, a bit of blood on a small rock or a scrap of fabric was all that was ever brought back. Even the occasions where guards might talk about the subject never mentioned any sort of beastly bloodbath. 

All who were sent had essentially disappeared without a trace, vanished as if into thin air. The only solid evidence of the victim’s fates came in their ‘WANTED’ signs. After being sent to execution, the eyes of the lost soul were crossed out with an ink that resembled blood, with thick strikes crossing out all other information on the poster except for the first part of the phrase ‘DEAD OR ALIVE’.

The markings were sure an effective means of striking fear, if the infamy and spread of the rumors said anything. Almost all thieves in the Lim kingdom, whether they were born there or simply traveling through, would hear at least one mention of the punishment sooner or later. Even commonfolk and the occasional guard would use it as a way of deterring people to act like criminals. 

All of the stories and imaginations spun in Stephen’s mind as his skin grew cold. Once ushered to move with a tug to his shoulders, Stephen tried to sprint away, snapped into a panicked view of reality and shouting out to the king. He was being pulled towards the door from whence he came, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight of both his words and his body.

“Wait, hear me out! This is all overblown, let me explain! This is all misheard! I never tried to steal from  _ you _ , Your Majesty! Please, you have to have mercy! Have grace and hear me out!”

Stephen’s pleas grew more and more desperate as he was forced in the archway of the door despite his struggling. He continued writhing against the women of orange and blue, slowing the trio’s departure. Mumbles of other guardsmen carried insults, little commands to stop being such a brat and take what was happening to him like a man, not a baby. They were turning blind eyes and deaf ears to his terror.

“No, please Dan! Not like this! At least not like this! I’ll serve my time in the dungeons, I-I’ll be your servant, I’ll do whatever you want Daniel!”

The three were just outside of the gateway.

“Fuck, please! I-if I can’t live, then I’ll take the rope! I’ll take the gallows!”

Two elven guards rushed to the door’s handles. The doors rumbled as they started to close.

“How about the blade? Come on, take it! Take my head off my shoulders!”

The doors did not slow in the slightest.

“Please, be quick with me!”

The doors creaked as they drew closer and closer together.

“Just spare me from this, your Majesty! Send me off any other way! Dear God, please have mercy!”

The doors only had a small crack between them. In a move driven by despair, he broke the elf’s hold on one of his arms and clutched the hard lump under his cloak hard. Thick tears warped his vision as he gave one last scream out to the merciless monarch.

_ “One last time, just let me see my brother!”  _

The doors stilled and sealed away the throne room with a loud, low boom. The sound seemed to shake Stephen to the core of his being, his body going still and nearly limp. Barley standing as tears dropped down his cheeks, the blue-haired lady reclaimed his arm with a grunt and, with the help of her shorter counterpart, for him into a position from which they could drag him. His hand, which once grabbed the hard object that hung from his neck with a white-knuckled grip, slipped away from his heart without resistance, the rest of his body following suit. And so he stayed like that, his heels dragging against the stone and his chest towards the sun as his shoulders were uncomfortably hooked up into the duo’s arms. His eyes lacking light as hopelessness set in, small tears silently flowed on thin rivers down his face as he was hurried away as the light of the evening slowly continued to die above him.

\-----

Although it took several minutes for the trio to arrive at their destination, it was just a blur to Stephen. He had fallen into a daze induced by his utmost terror, and once he was trapped in it, he paid little mind to his surroundings. Ever since he fell limp just outside the king’s hall, he ceased his efforts to escape. But even in his dazed state, he noticed many faces they had passed by. If a guard, servant or nobleman happened to stop and ask what was going on, Stephen’s restrainers stood still to give a short summary of the situation. Due to the thick fog over his mind, he couldn't comprehend a word they were saying. He simply saw blurry visions of faces, several of whom had little twisted curves to their lips. 

God, what was about to happen to him? What happens in the pit that left nothing of past prisoners? The punishment seemed to be reserved for the worst of criminals that the crown caught - that notion begged the question of how much pain was about to unfold. What agonies lied ahead? Stephen’s mind couldn’t help but spin.

_ “Am I going to be torn apart? Or will I have my throat sliced open? Will they drain my blood after cutting me up? Throw salt on me after they’ve torn off my skin? What if they cut out my tongue? Or gored and gutted me like a trout?...They could nail me to a post and leave me out to die. God, that would be such a slow way to go, awful... I’ve once heard of a sort of statue in another kingdom, an iron hull of agony. I think it was called a Brazen Bull? Fuck, with trade being common between kingdoms...Will they throw me in one of them and set off a roaring fire below? Broiling and burning, those have got to be some of the worst ways to go... Oh God, What will become of me? There’s so much that could happen...Quartered, beaten, bludgeoned... poisoned, tortured, mutilated... gashed, torn, eviscerated, dissected... trampled, flogged, flayed... burned, drowned, boiled...Oh God, why? Why, why, why, fuck-!” _

The young man felt shaking at one of his shoulders. The younger of the two women was leaning above his face, speaking...Huh? Her voice, it sounded strangely sympathetic to the thief. Why?

“Hello? Are you still alive in there?”

She snapped her fingers in front of his purple eyes, the look in which making it seem like he was just coming back to reality. Unlike the sweetness of her partner, the taller worker sounded annoyed and snappy, a cold opposite of the freckled woman’s warmth.

“He’d better be.”

“But…” Emerald eyes looked aside as the small lady took her hand off the thief momentarily to adjust her glasses. “I mean, it wouldn’t be awful if he was already dead...”

“Tris, you know Daniel wants people like this guy to suffer.” Her voice shuddered a bit when she thought about Dan’s rather sadistic streak towards rebels.

“That is true, but... We could always make up something. We could just stab him, let him die quickly. Didn’t you hear his screams?”

“But what if he starts screaming again? And what about all the blood? I know I haven’t taken anybody out here, but no one ever mentioned any giant bloodstains on the ground! How would we cover that?” 

The elf’s cold-wall façade cracked, letting a flash of nervousness show behind her golden eyes.

“Well...” 

Lacking a proper answer, Tris decided to stop speaking. She usually preferred to avoid pointless debates and needless pain. Besides, her partner had a point - although the walled area in question was detached from the castle, it would be possible for a passerby in the groves to overhear if Stephen’s screams were loud enough. 

King Daniel was often strict in his definitions of rebellion and loyalty. Always looking to keep his seat on the throne secure, he could grow suspicious if he heard someone even joking about defying him. Neither of the women were fond of the trait, nor for the little regard he had for so-called dissenters. It didn’t help that the Lim kingdom was a well-populated place, its cities and towns acting like beehives where citizen’s numbers could grow quite effectively. Such trends had stayed constant for the entirety of his reign thus far, which often led to him to make decisions based on the rationality that there would always be more people to replace those lost. And thus crimson splatters were commonplace to find in town squares, whose wooden stages often acted as places of public execution. At least it served as a place for entertainment, as many would argue. Throwing hate to a scapegoat and watching violence fall upon them could provide nourishment to deep-seated aggressions, like feeding bloody meat to a hateful, ferocious beast within the humanoid psyche. 

But not all were so ravenous. The guards looked at their capture, then to one another. Golden-yellow eyes met deep plantlike hues, each sharing their suppressed somberness and worried empathy to the other in their gaze. They then nodded to one another, guilty and hesitant, and dragged the criminal forward a bit more, lifting him up to his feet.

Back in tune with his mind, body, and the world around him, Stephen planted his soles on the rocky ground. Having foolishly failed to do so before, he twisted his head around, seeing the open wooden doors he’d been dragged through. Turning his gaze, he saw that a relatively short stone-brick wall formed a square all around him. The room was somewhat small, and it lacked most of the weathering the castle had. He looked up and saw the back of said palace rise above the roofless room showing just how far the guards managed to take him . It must’ve taken a good few minutes to get here from the ground gate alone, and that didn’t include the time taken through the levels of the tall building. The towers of the castle framed the sun as it lowered, painting the sky in deep reds, pinks and violets as the brightest stars started to poke through the nightly blue behind the thief. He next looked down at the unfinished floor. It was made of muted orange and sand-colored rocks dotted with small plants crawling out of thin cracks. Before him was the opening into the chasm below, covered by a hefty black iron grate. It had little bits of rust around its perimeter, and was big enough to let even a tall man like Stephen to lie on his back over the square-patterned holes provided by somewhat thin lines of metal and still fit inside.

As he had swiveled in semi-frantic fashion, the grips on him weakened due to the surprise movements. The duo quickly adjusted, leaving Tris to secure Stephen at the shoulders from behind, and her counterpart to open the hatch. Finding the handles on one of its sides, she took a moment to heave the tall panel upwards and over by its hinge, the solid and dense weight difficult for even a trained guard to lift. When it was leaned up enough, the elf gave one more good push, followed by a loud sound  from the impact.

**BANG!**  
  
The unpleasant sound of iron and stone made everyone wince in discomfort.

The sky-haired lady looked into the ground as she slowly walked back to her fellow worker. She only saw more of the same warm-colored stone below, devoid of life or particular features besides a few tiny blackish dots here and there. Stephen flailed once more against the small guardswoman, grabbing the arms that looped around his shoulders and attempting to flip her over his back and and drop her onto or into the rock below. Although he felt foolish for having become dazed for so long, it did have one benefit - providing his muscles with rest. Thus he had the strength to bend his torso forward and pluck the guardswoman off of her feet, causing her to kick her legs and shout in surprise, and Stephen to fall to one knee. This grabbed the attention of the other woman, who reached down to her hip and drew her sword as she rushed forward. Stephen tried to stand up fully, but was met with the tip of the standard-issued blade tapping his nose. He stilled, then shrunk back down, falling to both knees while shaking. Breaking out of his weakened hold, Tris and the sword-wielder worked together to secure a better hold on the doomed prisoner. They gave him a small tug, a gesture to try to get him to stand, but he stayed still. They tugged again, and he made a soft, high-pitched cry and a pitifully muttered phrase. 

_ “Why like this..?” _

Both women fell silent, the sounds piercing their hearts and forcing them to steel their nerves in order not to grow too empathetic. They were under orders, they had no say in the sentencing or the execution. They simply happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and now they had to be the ones to stain their hands. 

They dragged their hearts and well as the rogue’s knees across the floor. Deep ruby tones glowed above and bounced off fluffy orange hair as Tris lifted Stephen to stand. Acting before her better judgement could stop her, she leaned around Stephen to see his eyes, and was met with mortified, contracted pupils. Her grip tightened on his shoulder as tears welled up under her pale lashes, her breath starting to shake as she quickly forced herself to look away. 

A heart that has suffered tragedy often sees other tragedies before they happen, and such visions are a thing of heartbreaking agony.

The thief spoke quietly, the weight of impending doom echoed in his voice.

“Please, can we forget this? Take me to the dungeons and leave me to rot, but please let me live.”

The orbs on the young woman’s eyes grew, but she refused to look back to the prisoner, who continued on. 

“Please, I have to live for someone I love.”

Stephen exhaled a small sigh as he kept his harrowed eyes on her slowly shaking form. His voice was but a desperate whispered plea.

_ “Please, I just want to see my brother one last time.” _

Her heart breaking like the drops now spilling down her cheeks, Tris let out a sob as she kept her gaze away, a sob that struck Stephen like a warhammer to the chest.

_ “I’m so sorry!” _

The next thing Stephen knew was wind rushing by his sides and the sky growing further and further away from him. It was immediately followed by a sudden collision to his entire frame.

Stephen winced as his nerves caught up to the damage taken by his body. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of his lungs, leaving him to lie as a husk for a moment. The sharpness of the pain quickly faded, leaving him with a raging soreness in his back and limbs which had taken the punch. He heard loud ringing in his ears as the back of his skull throbbed in pain from slamming onto the rock floor. He wasn’t sure if he was bleeding or not, it definitely could be with how sharp the pain felt. 

Despite everything, he swiftly sat upright and propped himself to his feet. This was no time to linger or be still. He was on the killing floor now, and at any moment he knew he’d have to dance with the devil. 

Stephen analyzed his surroundings, trying to find the infamous danger of this damned place. He saw rough rock walls made of the same muted orange and sand tones as he saw on the surface. The walls curved up and inwards, forming a solid egg-shaped dome only broken by the beams of light that filtered down from the roughly square hole. As if he was under a spotlight, his range of vision was quickly lost to a dark void. He shifted around on his feet, his eyes adjusting as he tried to figure out what was going on. His spine tingling with shivers, it felt like the darkness could creep in towards him at any moment and swallow him whole. 

The faint orange light against the darkness made the dust he brushed up look like specks of gold in the air, slowly drifting back to the ground. His eyes were drawn to the contrast and the peacefulness of the dust- it was a peacefulness that made the place feel even more jarring. How could something be so calm in a place of horrid death?

Stephen was caught up in his own anxious thoughts when he saw something at the edge of the blackness- a small plume of dust softly blossomed in the air. His eyes and body locked in place at that sign. The plumes, although never big, kept arising from varying spots around him. The motions and minute sounds kept stabbing his nerves, his body so still yet so jumpy as he flinched hard at every puff. Something was alive here, something was moving around him. Stephen tried his best to contain the urge to shake as he watched the dust shift in a wide circle around him.

**_BANG!_ ** __

Stephen shrunk inwards at the loud, shrill sound and looked skywards. He saw the dim warm light above him divided by beams of cruel black steel, the grate just having been slammed closed above him. He was quick to look back down- if the sound nearly made him jump out of his skin, then what did it do to the other creature in the cavern?

In the corner of his eye, he saw a mass of color right away. A flash of blue, or perhaps it was grey? He had no time to tell. In an especially large kick of powder, Stephen’s heart skipped at the sight before him, his eyes having adjusted enough to the darkness. He saw a mound of scales shifting in the pitch before retreating out of sight. He reflexively jumped back, only to curse at himself internally when he heard the sounds of louder shifting, seemingly a response. 

He looked up and swore under his breath at the sound of footsteps above him, even though it didn't take long for the quick thumps to disappear. This left the human distracted for just a few moments, but that was plenty of time.

Stephen let out a high-pitched yelp as he felt something tap the back of one of his boots. He stumbled forward while twisting his torso to face the source, and he managed to catch a glimpse of a small scaled shape as it rushed back into the shadows. A tendril? A tail, perhaps? Stephen barely registered the small whine that escaped his throat at the sight, quickly overruled by another noise. 

_ Srchhhhhh...  _

It was the sound of...scratching? One long and continuous noise, coming from behind the doomed boy. Sweeping his feet, he looked back to where he’d previously seen the moving mass a few moments before. His heart dropped, his body and blood freezing at the sight before him.

There was not just a single mass present this time. Rather, there was a series of scaled links. It looked like most of the lumps were thick enough to easily reach his shins. Each one phased in and out of the edges of the darkness, making it look almost phantom-like. In front of the serpentlike body, a clawed, scale-covered hand dragged slowly against the ground, pulling inwards towards the void. Some indescribable force quickly commanded Stephen to point his eyes slightly upwards from the hand. A pair of yellow eyes cut through the golden dust. The wide-open eyes were pointed directly at the rogue with pupils so slivered that they were barely visible in the gleaming, vibrant yellow. These eyes were framed by a few long strands, seemingly silver in color. Perhaps it was hair? The eyes were also surrounded by a color that seemed to match that of a pale humanoid. The shining grey burst forth from the creature’s head, flowing down to the cave floor and slithering down its sides and up its back. 

The whole form before him was pulled in on itself, seeming to be as contracted and balled-up as Stephen’s fear-strained heart as it coiled up like a spring. A small flickering of something reddish and a small shifting of the kicked up dust was Stephen’s final warning - but even with that sign, Stephen had no time left to react.

In an instant, the figure rushed towards the purple-haired man. For a split second, the humanoid part of the form lingered in the air in a way that much resembled a tackle. The creature’s mouth was open wide, displaying a pair of shining fangs and an array of sharp teeth as it let out a loud hissing sound. Its scale-adorned arms wrapped around Stephen’s shoulders, its clawed hands grabbing his upper arms tightly. The two humanoids began falling, both victims to the slamming force.

They quickly hit a stop, but it was not on the dirty floor of the cavern. Stephen’s back instead met a thick section of the monster’s tail. The impact, while forceful and painful to his already battered body, did nothing to stop the movements of the assailant. A pair of long, thin fangs found their target as they sank their way into the side of Stephen’s neck. While the thief began to shout from the searing pain, the lengthy mass attached to the biter quickly shifted, circling around the rogue’s body. The end of the tail leading the movement, the weight first looped around the human’s legs twice over, then once around the divot above his hips. 

The monster quickly let go of Stephen’s neck and propped itself above him with its arms. The creature’s jaw remained ajar, the red coating on its fangs showing at the edge of its outline as low light poured in from above. Its tail continuing further upwards, Stephen’s stomach was next to be covered. Scales glided over cloth without a hitch, making the movements smooth and quick.

The whole process took only a matter of seconds.

Despite his reactions having been stalled by overwhelming shock and force, Stephen did try to fight back against the beast. Feeling how his lower body was trapped, he tried to lift himself up with his spine and hoped to grab at the creature’s shoulders, just as it grabbed him. It was a plan that would hopefully allow him to slip backwards and out of the building corkscrew. 

In response to the motion, the clawed hands swiftly switched locations, a blue-silver hand landing on purple hair and the other on the ground just above his shoulder. It threaded its grip in the weave and shoved Stephen’s head down, the back of it landing on the ground. The force on his head remained constant as the tail stretched further upwards, causing all the wrappings below to grow even thicker. Next to be bound were Stephen’s upper arms and chest in one loop, then one more encircling around his exposed throat finished the job. 

Stephen gasped in instinctual fear as the thin ending brushed across the sensitive skin. Under all the strong, heavy weights of the bind, Stephen was completely immobilized, and it did not take him long to realize that. 

Stephen attempted to wriggle against the beast, clawing at its coils where his hands stuck out, but it all proved to be fruitless as the weight did not budge. Both he and the monster above him paused for a moment, observing one another in view of partial light. Stephen saw above him the same haunting yellow eyes, although there now seemed to be blue flecks present among the vibrant irises. He saw a volume of silver hair draping down from its head and noticed how it enveloped the space around his head like a thick veil. The hair was easily long enough to spill onto the floor, and probably enough to reach the creature’s humanoid hips if the creature was propped upright. 

Through the frayed layers, Stephen noticed how human-like the limb next to his head appeared to be. The arm looked as if it were wearing a perfectly tailored snakeskin glove, except for where the effect faded directly into what appeared to be skin just after the elbows. Stephen, with those observations, put together the components of the monstrosity - the beast was some kind of serpent-human hybrid, and it was unlike anything he’s seen or heard of before.

He’d seen devil-born and their brilliant horns and tails. He’d seen a few scaleborn, primarily with lizardlike traits. He’d seen the Lune, a species of humanoids who always look bathed in moonlight and could fly under the crescent moon on magic-made wings. He’d seen mamali with the ears, eyes, horns or fur of cats, dogs, sheep, bulls, and deer. He’d seen a past partner in crime turn into an aggressive, bloodthirsty wolfman under a full moon, suffering from an old-afflicted curse. 

The closest thing he’d ever seen before was a single scaleborn woman with the eyes, fangs and tongue of a serpent, whose lower legs were wrapped in a similar effect to the beast’s arms. He’d never seen anything like this, never heard of anything so dangerous and powerful. Not even werewolves and werehogs seemed as imminent of a threat, the sheer size of this creature well above their league.

Flicking his eyes back to the humanlike face, he really took in how the snake-man’s jaw remained partially opened, fangs resting in front of his mouth and coated in blood that formed crimson streaks down the beast’s jaw. Stephen shuddered from that part of the picture above him, as well as from the burn of the fresh wound those sharp fangs caused. 

His eyes caught the edges of a forked tongue slither out from behind the fangs and swipe at bloody teeth before retreating. Round pupils watched as the mouth closed and shifted slightly, contracting when he heard a gulping sound. The blood in his veins froze when the snake’s lips curved upwards into a small grin. Paired with the slit saffron eyes, the face above him looked malicious and evil.

Matching the humanlike parts of its appearance, the serpent was also a conscious, thinking being, and his curiosity made it take a moment to stare at his capture. This one had a tuft of purple hair that sat upon a layer of darker-colored fuzz. Sure, the monster had seen a couple heads painted with reds, greens and blues, but hadn’t seen such vibrance in a very long time. The strands felt soft beneath his hand, he noticed. The eyes beneath him shared the same bright hue. He’d never seen violet eyes before. He wondered, just for a split second, if what he had bound beneath him was even a normal human. _ Did he catch something rare, perhaps? Something especially tasty?  _

He decided to test his curiosity out. Normally he didn’t focus too much on the blood of his kills. He found the metallic taste ‘okay’ at best, and it was usually much less pleasant. But since he already got a reflexive bite in on his catch that dipped his maw in the stuff, he licked his teeth to get a taste. There was still that human trace of metal and that telltale savory-saltine kick, but he also noticed a slight... _ something _ . A sweetness? A meatiness? He moved his tongue around in his mouth to try to get a better idea of what was enticing him so much. Although he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was peaking his senses, he did experience more of its delectability. Saliva had built up from the sampling, so the reptilian swallowed back to clear out his mouth. He couldn’t help but grin. Even from just that little taste test, he was already anticipating what other flavors he’d find out about. 

_ He was so excited to make a delicious meal out of the prey in his grasp. _

The serpent began to squeeze his lengthy lower body tighter around the helpless human. Coiling his tail slightly further along its looping path, he started to turn up the pressure of the vice.

Stephen let out a deep-rooted cry of terror before taking a quick breath of air when he felt the muscles tense around him. The long trail of scales had been little more than resting on him before, the heavy weight alone being an effective pin on his beaten and scathed body. Now they were drawing even closer inwards than simple touch. With eyes like those of a trapped rabbit, purple met untainted, roaring yellow.

The reptilian felt a small pang of annoyance when he heard the airy sound from his prey. The flavor lingering in his mouth was making him so excited that he had grown impatient, trying to kill the rogue as quick as he could. He was so damn eager to feast upon his body.

Within a matter of seconds, the pressure had become more intense than any humanoid grip. Stephen’s form started to waver, all looseness lost as the scales bound him tight. He tried to wriggle against the intensifying crush, but it proved useless as he could no longer even do that. As the effort made use of oxygen, Stephen tried to breathe once again, but now it was challenging. Yet he managed to steal a bit of air from the den around him. The vice continued to tighten.

The snake felt the struggle against his inner tail. For a split second, he found the action pitiful. The glimmers of forming tears beneath him would normally be something to spark the empathetic side of his heart. But animalistic hunger and desire for a feast were fast to snuff out that thought. Even his higher thinking was devoted to eating, imaginations of the flavors to come making him salivate. He flicked his tongue out in a fast-paced tempo, the excited tendril taking in more of Stephen’s delectable scent. He squeezed the vice even tighter.

It was a competition of force and raw strength, Stephen’s lungs versus the tremendous crushing pressure of the gigantic serpent. With deep-set terror, he tried again and again to gasp for air, but the trials grew more and more useless. Water pooled into big droplets on his eyes, blurring his vision. Still the vice continued to tighten.

A few more seconds and his attempts became completely fruitless. He was hopelessly outmatched and outclassed, the force was far too powerful! Desperation set in and grew faster and faster as veins all over his body became strained. Oxygen stopped flowing within him, replaced with pain and dread. His fear, now boiling wildly, caused him to further struggle against the monstrosity. He could manage nothing more than a shiver-like shaking as he felt like his arms were starting to snap. The vice still continued to tighten.

A long, quiet wheeze was drawn out of Stephen’s body as the meager amount of air in his lungs was forced out. Ever increasing desperation made him try again and again to breathe, to get something, _ anything! _

Pointless, anyone would know the effort was pointless. But instinct, panic and a desperation to live clouded out his judgement and kept up the fight even as he felt the world spin around him. Tears broke over his eyes, flowing down the sides of his head as he remained pinned down. Why did the vice continue to tighten?

He could no longer shake or breathe, so he tried to scream, to shout, to yell, to call out to any force or being that may be willing to help him. A specter, a person, a celestial angel, he really meant anything. Even with a fabled devil or some unfathomable epitome of evil, he’d sign any contract and make any deal in order to escape his hellish despair. 

It all accomplished nothing. 

As the edges of Stephen’s vision and consciousness faded, he felt rivers flowing down his face. The ocean over his eyes made any forms above him indistinguishable and meaningless. Yet he still managed to lock his gaze with the eyes above him, causing the fierce, ravenous yellow to consume his watery vision.

But even in his dazed mind, Stephen wondered if this would be the last thing he would ever know. An all-consuming despair, the agony of death’s blade, and the bright color of a beautiful sunrise? Just before he slipped into the darkness, one last thought echoed in his mind.

_ “I’m so sorry Gavin…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn Stephen be looking like a snack lmao
> 
> Also hopefully I could write the fear and tension well. Maybe even get a couple chills up a reader's spine? Haha just kidding...unless?
> 
> Joking aside, hopefully reading was enjoyable. Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> About a year ago, I set out to write a story that had ended up growing much deeper that I had initially imagined - both in terms of the writing itself, as well as a following that developed around it. Things went well for a while, however...  
> The further I went along with the project, the more anxious I got about it. I noticed more flaws seeping through the cracks, a major one being the pacing and being unsure of how to steer the writing from one story point to another. I also failed to include several things to a proper degree, primarily foreshadowing and important worldbuilding details. Many of the points of the story I had in mind would feel as if they came out of nowhere in the old version...
> 
> But now that I've had time to speculate, let ideas sit and improve my writing skills overall, I feel relatively confident in doing a rewriting of this adventure. Although I don't think the previous version was horrible, I still want to provide something better! That goes for myself, new readers, and especially long-time readers of the series - they were the ones who gave me the pushes needed to actually do this, so I want to show my deep thanks to them.
> 
> This reboot follows the same story as the original, but with different, (hopefully) more balanced pacing and better explaining of worldbuilding elements. I'm sure many bits will look or feel similar to the original - this is both because it's the same story, but also because I'll be taking bits from the old version and using them here, which should greatly help me along. It wasn't horrible writing before, so why not use good things you have at your disposal?  
> So let's sit back, get immersed into a clearer, deeper world and watch how the adventure goes down this time!
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this, and I hope I can upload again soon!


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